


So Long Sentiment

by eeveelouwho



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Hurt but comfort eventually, Jack and gabe always fighting, M/M, Sexual Tension, and will probably go on to after fall and recall, face fucking, lmao who even knows how to tag things, starts pre-fall of overwatch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 13:44:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11533458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeveelouwho/pseuds/eeveelouwho
Summary: 'So long sentiment, it doesn't matter now.'Or, the one where Gabriel Reyes fucks it all up at every possible turn.





	1. Who'd you take to bed last night?

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed. This is the first thing I've written in a really long time. Gonna try to go for regular updates and try not to abandon the work. Feel free to send me in ideas or comments or any constructive criticism you have.
> 
> Jesse Mccree is the other woman. Jack Morrison might be more dangerous than he thinks.

It’s been literal months since they’ve done anything but yell and fight when left in the same room together. 

Once, they’re both sure it hadn’t been this way.  Jack more than Gabriel, perhaps, idealistic and having been more innocent then.  They’d been in love—are still in love—jack corrects himself mentally.  Still in love.  Still lovers, and lovers fight.  Maybe not this much and maybe not so often but he’s still sure they can make it through this rough patch.  They just have to get there.  (Jack doesn’t let himself wonder if Gabriel even wants them to get past it.  If he still thinks about the words murmured in the barracks.  About moving on and settling down.  Jack thinks about it now more than then, and Gabriel doesn’t seem to think of it much anymore.) This particular tryst is going on three months now, and Jack can’t take any more of not seeing his lover outside of business-as-usual-holovids and classically-Gabriel-passive-aggressive-remarks-during-meetings.  No, he didn’t start the fight, but they’re both responsible adults and it’s goddamn time one of them started acting like it.

The strike commander could probably have scrounged around for Gabriel’s schedule for the day if he’d felt like it- but in the end it wouldn’t have mattered.  Between training drills and mission debriefings wasn’t the best time to settle apart their differences.  He’d have to wait for the peace of night, and safe cover of darkness to see Gabriel again.  Probably better that way, he mused, at least if Gabriel felt like screaming it wouldn’t be in front of eager minded recruits.

Once upon a time Jack had been free to come and go from Gabriel’s quarters.  With their growing distance, though, he found himself standing outside the door too late at night for a visit to be considered remotely professional, wondering if he should let himself in.  Wondering if he should knock.  Wondering if knocking would be like admitting finality.  Admitting they’d crossed some line somewhere that Jack hadn’t meant to—He’s coming out to the conclusion it’s just foolishness.  What a ridiculous thing to give him pause.  What a thing to make him wonder.  A steel door is all that stands between months of separation and anxiety between him and his lover.  It’s just a door.  Just open the door, just go in.  Just go in like you always have and—

There’s noise on the other side of the door.  Probably too quiet for normal ears, but not to Jack.  Not his enhanced senses.  His hand hovers over the pad to the right of the door, so close to entering the code that would let him in and now frozen for entirely new reasons Jack had never even considered.  Something new burns in his chest, the kind of thing Jack only ever felt when Gabriel was involved- fury. The kind that moved more like a natural disaster than an emotion.

There was someone in Gabriel’s room with him. 

Little too late for social visits.  And they don’t sound like they’re doing a lot of talking.

                Jack leaves. 

Logically, he knows his feet must have carried him back to his room.  In reality, he has no memory of the journey back to the other side of the compound, and the rage in his chest is an undulating monster, writhing.  He’s never wanted to hurt Gabriel more than right now.  He slams a fist into the metal wall so hard he’s surprised when it dents, but doesn’t give out under his abuse.  The monster in his chest doesn’t let him sleep that night.  He spends the uneasy night with Gabriel’s voice in his ear, a lifetime away.  It’s all sweet nothings that Jack once thought they might make true, no matter how long it took—what was it Gabriel liked to say to him now?  Too idealistic.  _Too innocent, boy-scout._   Right.

The following morning finds Jack in a bitter mood with black coffee on his desk at an hour earlier than he usually starts.  But at least the paper work gets shoved out of the way fast and he won’t have to worry about it later.  He doesn’t particularly want to worry about anything at all right now.  He swings back and forth between praying for a peaceful afternoon and hoping that the compound blows sky high just for a distraction.

Seems fate settled for the middle ground.  Angela Ziegler is in his office before 8 am, bringing with her a bright but concerned smile, and another cup of coffee.  This one is sweeter.

“You’re getting an early start today, Jack.”  Her voice is like ice on a burn.  He leans back from his desk, relaxes just a little in the chair.  She must notice the way his shoulders sag because she pushes the empty cup of coffee away and puts the new one in his hand.  “Lena said she saw you on your way in, said you looked like death.  She thought perhaps you were coming down with something.”

Jack sips at the coffee.  It’s better than the last one, blissfully.  Black coffee really isn’t his style anyway.  _It’s Gabriel’s_.  Some voice at the back of his head provides, and the start of a headache comes with it.  After a long moment, he sets it on his deck and rubs his hands over his face.  It’s a motion Angela has seen him do more in these recent days than in the years she’s known him.

“Keep frowning like that and you’ll get wrinkles before you’re thirty.”  She says, and then, “Did something happen with Gabe?”

“No.” He says too quickly, and one perfect eyebrow goes up into her hairline.  He knows he’s been caught lying and derisively answers- “…Yes.”

 

Turns out it’s a good thing he got the early morning bullshit out of the way, because Angela keeps him busy for another thirty minutes or so- time which would have been precious and scarce on a usual afternoon.  He doesn’t tell her about last night.  He doesn’t tell her how, if he sees Gabriel, he might punch him in the face.  Just tells her it’s the usual go-to problems with them—she graciously offers to mediate between them.  He insists it wouldn’t work, but he appreciates the sentiment.  By the time the afternoon rolls around, Jack is feeling less homicidal, but no less betrayed.

The world must think it’s funny.

Gabriel comes strolling into his office like he owns it, looking cheeky.  Looking relaxed.

 _Must have slept well_ , his mind provides.  A bitter fire claws at his throat.  It tastes suspiciously of bile.

“Gabriel.” He greets.  It’s callous and distant and makes the good mood fall right of Gabriel’s features.

                 _Good_.  Jack thinks.                                                                           

“I just—came to apologize.  If it isn’t a good time—“ Gabriel gives a gesture with one thumb to the door.  It’s the most considerate of Jack’s feelings he’s been in three whole months, and it comes with a gesture to leave.  Something about that notion doesn’t sit well on Jack’s already sour stomach.  He should probably tell him to leave, should probably tell him to get out unless he has something important to say.  Jack doesn’t say anything for a long time.

“…No, close the door.”  Gabriel raises a brow and there’s a familiar expression of smug sensuality—he grins up at him the same way he had done in SEP.  Cocky and full of himself.  An expression he liked to say practically unbuttoned Jack’s pants all by itself.  Jack can’t help but wonder today if it was pretty good at unbuttoning other pants, too.

Gabriel shuts the office door, shuts the blinds too, before he comes back over to the desk and the chair Jack reclines in.  Jack swings between blind fury and acceptance.  Between exhausted resignation and the desire to scream _how could you do this to me?_  Gabriel kneels before him, oblivious.  Jack puts on his best bedroom eyes and finds that the curl of want in his gut comes without much prodding.  He’d thought for certain the newfound revelation of infidelity would make it harder to get it up—traitorous body.  He hasn’t seen Gabe on his knees in three damn months.  The need is very real—and unlike the bastard in front of him, he doesn’t get his _fix_ somewhere else.  Something in his eyes must be different, because Gabriel is watching him carefully, with every calculated movement pulling him away from plausible thought and further into that void of want growing down south.

“You look like you want to punch me the face, _Carino_ \- You gonna abuse me?” Gabe’s voice is teasing, but his eyes suggest he’s fully aware of how much Jack wants to see him punished right now.

                “I’m thinking about a training exercise.”

“A training—“ Gabriel’s whole face scrunches up in agitation, clearly ready to start a whole new argument between them.  Looking like he’s going to pick a fight over how their first bout of intimacy is not going to be ruined by his goddamn work schedule.  But as soon as Gabriel opens his mouth to protest, Jack shoves two fingers in over his tongue.

Gabriel doesn’t seem to be protesting much now, even if he isn’t used to seeing Jack take command over him outside of the field.

Jack crooks two fingers against his tongue and uses the thumb pressed against the underside of Gabriel’s jaw to pull him forward. 

“Yeah.  A training exercise.” Jack repeats.  He knows good and well that if his mouth weren’t otherwise occupied Gabriel would have something smart to say.  Jack doesn’t care.  He doesn’t want to hear Gabriel’s voice right now.  He just wants to mess him up.

That monster in his chest is writhing again.  Says he should make sure Gabriel _can’t_ get his _fix_ anywhere else.  Jack is inclined to oblige.

 Jack’s free hand makes quick work of his own belt, pants and boxers.  Jack can literally feel Gabriel mouthwatering at the sight of his lover, half-hard and controlling, after months apart.  He pulls his hand away from Gabriel’s mouth and uses it to pluck the beanie up off his head, laying it on the desk.

“Gotta say, I’m not—“

“Don’t talk.  Just get to work, soldier.”

Gabriel quirks an eyebrow at him, not used to taking orders quite like this, but his dick stirs at the prospect of Jack using his ‘strike-commander’ voice on him.  Jack is watching him expectantly, like there’s something else—

“Orders, commander?” Gabriel puts on his best blackwatch-reporting-in voice, trying to keep the smirk off the edges of his lips.  Jack seems pleased with this particular response.

“Keep your hands at your sides.  Do not touch yourself.  You only get to use your mouth.”  The orders are stern, and leave no room for misunderstanding.  Gabriel keeps his hands down at his sides and leans forward to take his lover, half-hard, against his tongue.  He bobs his head back and forth with wet noises until Jack stands erect and perfect for him—Jack leans his elbow against the arm of the office chair and uses the leverage from it to look disinterested when he covers his mouth.  It probably doesn’t work, when his breath turns hot in his chest and comes in short wisps, he doesn’t need Jack’s eyes to tell him how well he’s doing.

 Jack gives him credit where credit is due.  Gabriel is just as good with his mouth as he remembers, and he has to fight to keep his hips still before remembering he is meant to be punishing Gabriel, so he thrusts his hips up without warning, relishing the way Gabriel gags.  He shifts whiskey shaded eyes up to look at Jack with accusation, but he doesn’t pull back to pop off a remark, so Jack rewards him.  His hands run up through short curls and back down the tense line of Gabriel’s neck—This time, when he thrusts up, he holds Gabriel’s head down against it and fucks into his throat.  Gabriel’s instinctual response is to press his hands against Jack’s thighs.  Jack immediately reprimands him.

“Hands down.” He grunts, still holding his head as he uses his mouth, feels his tip push against the back of Gabriel’s throat.  Gabriel puts his hands down, but those burning amber eyes still stay on _his commander_.  He doesn’t stop until he’s coming down Gabriel’s throat and there’s the starting pins and needles of tears in the corners of Gabriel’s eyes.  Gabriel takes it all without complaint- not that he could complain right now if he wanted to.

He pulls back off his dick with a wet gasp, coughing against the rough feeling at the back of his throat.

“Jesus Christ, Jack-“ Gabriel gripes at him, but his pants are tight and there’s a dark spot at the front where precum has started to soak through.  His body thrums hot with need and his muscles alive with want for Jack.  Jack’s expression doesn’t falter or change—

“Get up.” He commands—commands is the only word that fits.  He doesn’t ask.  He doesn’t tell Gabriel to get up, lean against the desk.  He _commands_ him.  Gabriel does as he is bid, and leans against the desk in front of Jack, where Jack, torturously slow, shoves his pants down around his ankles.  Gabriel hisses when the cold hits his cock, hot and dark—it might be a stupid thing to get turned on by, but Jack has always loved the color of Gabriel’s cock.  Deep caramel, turning dark red at the tip where he’s weeping.  Jack wraps a gloved hand around him and strokes, long and languid and slow.

“You like that, Gabe?”

Gabriel leans his head back with a throaty moan, the sound deep.  It only serves to remind Jack of the same noises he’d heard standing outside of a cold steel door not even 24 hours ago.  He brings Gabriel right up to that dreadful edge.  Right up to that point.  He can tell from the way his voice changes, turns into breathy sounds of want, short and deep in his throat.  Jack doesn’t stop stroking but he slows down enough that Gabriel curses under his breath.

“Fuck, Jack, don’t tease me—come on—“

                “Who’d you take to bed last night, Gabe?”

Gabriel goes ramrod still under his hands, aside from the twitch of his hips, his body still aching and hot under his hand.  He sputters around his moans and looks at Jack with—something.  Something Jack can’t place.  Might be guilt, might be confusion.  Jack’s boiling blood takes it as an admission.

“What…?” Gabriel asks slowly, swallowing thickly—his throat is still raw from the merciless treatment it received, and it suddenly feels tight. 

“Did I stutter, Gabe?  Who the fuck was in your room last night?”  Jack continues his strokes, pushes his thumb against the tip, squeezes at the base just the way Gabriel likes.  He receives another grainy moan in return.

“I—Fuck—Jack it’s—“ His orgasm takes him sharply across Jack’s hand.  Jack’s expression never changes.  “Shit—Shit jack, I…”

Gabriel wonders if he should be angry.  If he should feel used—He wonders if he should try and feign innocence, pretend he doesn’t know.  Jack doesn’t say anything else, just tucks his softened dick back into his pants and turns back to his desk.  If Gabriel had thought the last three months were distant, it’s nothing like the cold shoulder Jack is giving him now—in fact, nothing has ever been like the cold shoulder Jack is giving him now.  Even in anger, his Jackie has always been eager to right wrongs, eager to fix things. 

He doesn’t seem like he wants to fix anything right now.

“Well?” He says after a moment staring at his monitor, with Gabriel’s pants still around his ankles.  Gabriel makes slow work of fixing his clothes, trying to pull his dignity and pride back together.  He wants to say _you weren’t supposed to know_.  Wants to _say it only happened once or it won’t happen again_.  He gets the feeling the words would fall on deaf ears.

“Look, Jack it…it’s not…like that.”

“Not like what, Gabe?” Jack crosses his arms over his chest.  “It’s not like you took someone else to bed to forget we were fighting?”  He sneers.  He’s being unnecessarily cruel, but that feeling in his chest is visceral and angry.  Gabriel is watching him, bewildered and unsure.  But not sad.  Not remorseful.  Jack has to wonder if he cares whether or not this could be the end of them.  “You gonna answer the fucking question, or not?”

Gabriel doesn’t answer.  There’s a knock at the office door.

“Just make sure you don’t have any visitors in your bed tonight, Reyes.”

And then it’s back to life as usual.


	2. Beware of what's too easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack is probably too willing to let it go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit shorter than the first chapter. But things will start moving pretty quickly now.

Gabriel takes his fury out on the recruits, in brutal simulations or the training gym.  Honestly, he should probably only be angry with himself.  His own stupidity got them into this mess.  He doubts the fucking boy scouts ever had second thoughts about his loyalty to Gabriel fucking Reyes.  Gabe punches one of the bags in the gym so hard it comes straight off the metal hooks and slams into the floor with a startling sound.  He pants, heat building under his hoodie, making him sweat.  He wants to cuss and scream but it’d just be useless.

_Just make sure you don’t have any visitors in your bed tonight, Reyes._

Jesse whistles somewhere beyond him, and doesn’t even have the decency to appear ashamed when Gabriel leers nastily at him.  Jesse just grins ear to ear at him, and insists on getting up in his space.  It’s not the first time that Gabriel has wondered if the dumb _vaquero_ has any sense of self-preservation at all.  But it makes the commander leer down at him just as violently.  Gabriel knows he can’t really blame this on Jesse, but it’s so easy to just be mad at him.  To just be mad at him for being there, for coming to him and seducing him at all.  Nevermind that Gabriel should have had the good conscious to say no.

“Fuck off, Mccree.” He growls.  Jesse doesn’t look intent on budging.  But at least he looks just a little more wary.

“Shit, boss, you look like hell.”  Jesse comes closer—Gabriel grabs a towel as an excuse to put more distance between them.  Jesse seems to have picked up on the act.  He holds his hands up in a show of good nature.  “Look, you don’t wanna talk about about it, we don’t gotta talk about it.” And god, if Jesse could just stop talking right there that’d be fan-fucking-tastic.  But no, as is completely characteristic of Gabriel’s favorite little _vaquero_ Jesse just keeps talking.  “But if you need a little extra relief—” Gabriel cuts him off with a sharp growl.  “You can uh, beat me to a pulp in the ring.  Jesus, you think I’m gonna ask to blow you when you look like murder, boss?  Do I look _that_ stupid?”  Gabriel has to resist the vitriolic urge to tell him _yeah, he definitely does_.

“Nah, thanks for the offer, _pendejo_ , but I have to shower before I get back to my room.”  It’s meant to convey that he distinctly doesn’t have time for Jesse right now.  He thinks it does a pretty decent job, at least.  Jesse nods, but there’s something else behind his eyes.  Something soft that wreaks of trouble when Gabriel catches it.  “Don’t look at me like that.  I don’t need your fucking sympathy.”

“I…wasn’t…” But Jesse doesn’t even know how to respond to that.

And what they’ve got going for them is hardly more than skin deep.  Jesse isn’t an idiot, despite the common misconception.  He knew exactly what he was doing the first time he went to make out with Gabriel Reyes after a particularly hard beating in the ring had him riled up.  There was blood in his ears and thunder in his veins—he’d bitten down on Gabriel’s lips so hard that the commander bled under his teeth.  Reyes fucked him right there on the mat and then made Jesse clean it up later.

May not of been a married man, but Jesse knew the story.  Knew just what he was doing when he sought Gabriel out the time after that, and the time after that one.

“You need a shower too, Jesse.  You smell like a fucking stable.  Get cleaned up before the briefing tomorrow.”

And then Gabriel is ducking off toward the showers—where Jesse would usually dare to follow.  Tonight, he doesn’t imagine Gabriel would much appreciate the company.

 

Gabriel slams a fist into the tiled wall so hard he’s pretty sure he just bruised the entire side of hand, and rests his head against the cool tile.  Streams of hot water soothe aching muscles, but they don’t do much for the panic climbing up the edges of his throat.  For sure, Jack’s gonna call everything off between them.  He’s thrown away years of their life, the possibility of their future, for a good fuck when the two of them were going through their ‘rough patch’.  That’s what he’d always heard Jack call their fights.  Because Jack always, always thought there wasn’t a single thing in the world that couldn’t be solved with good diplomacy.  Gabriel thought there were plenty of things that couldn’t be, and those things usually had to be solved with the end of a sawed off. 

Gabe’s pretty sure they won’t work through this.

Maybe he intentionally takes longer than he needs too.  Makes sure he’s clean, smells good, but he drags his feet on the way back to his quarters.  He doesn’t have a single doubt in his mind that Jack is waiting there for him when he stands outside the door—what he doesn’t expect is for Jack to be looking at the photo Gabriel keeps next to his bed.  Or to be holding the beanie Gabriel had left in his office in his other hand. 

Jack looks up when the door hisses open.  He’s sitting in the mostly-dark, illuminated only by the spill of the artificial light from the window behind him.  The blinds are drawn closed, but the dim color of fluorescents still melts into their space.  He holds out the beanie like some kind of peacekeeper between them, the middleground.  Jack is by the bed and Gabriel is by the door.  The beanie spans the space between them.

“You left this in my office.  Figured you must have been pretty shook up.  Don’t think I’ve ever seen you forget it.” Jack murmurs into the too-thick quiet. 

“Was wondering what the hell I must have done with it.  Uh…thanks.” Gabriel sets it down on the dresser and barely sees Jack’s subtle movement from his peripheral vision as he returns his attention to the photo in his hands.  “You look like you’ve never seen that picture before.  It’s been there for years.”

“I was just thinking I don’t even recognize us in it.” Jack says, so quiet he suddenly seems demure.  This is not the strike commander, sitting on his bed.  This is Jack.  His farmboy.  His boyscout.  It’s been a long goddamn time since Gabriel has seen him.

“…I think I do.”

Jack scoffs.  Maybe it was meant to be a laugh, but it comes out black and jaded.  Gabriel doesn’t like it, thinks it sounds more like him than it does Jack.

“Don’t think you can sweet talk your way out of this one, Reyes.  I know what I heard.  And I know guilt when I see it on your face.” _And fear, too_ , but Jack doesn’t dare touch on that one.  _Fear_ is what he’d seen when Gabriel opened the door and saw him, sitting, ready to end his world.  Jack isn’t good at punishing disloyalty.  It’s probably his worst feature as a leader—but this isn’t someone who stepped out of line on a battlefield.  This is Gabriel.  His Gabe.  The idiot who sung stupid songs in Spanish while plucking out sweetly singing notes on a guitar when they were in basic together.  Jack doesn’t think he can hate him—for all the anger and derision in the world.  For all the betrayal, he doesn’t think he can hate Gabriel Reyes.  “Just get it over with, Gabe.  Just tell me what happened.”

He doesn’t have to tell Jack that they were growing apart.  Jack fucking knows.  God he knows.  It kept him away 7 nights a week, for varying hours every time.  But when he thinks about the man he’d fought shoulder to shoulder and back to back with, he can’t imagine them like this. 

“It’s—Mccree.”

“Mccree?  The kid you picked up in the Gorge?” Jack scrunches up his nose.  Not even close to what Jack would call Gabriel’s tastes.  Gabriel knows it too. 

“Yeah, fuck, I don’t even really know how it happened, Jack, it just did.” And at the very least, he sounds spectacularly sorry.  He throws his hands up and drops them down to his sides again.  “One second I was laying him out on mat, and the next I was _laying him out on the mat_.” Jack cringes.  Yeah, he can do without that mental image thank-you-very-much.  Jack looks away from Gabriel, sets the picture down and leans back against the wall that the bunk is braced against.  He pats the seat beside him.  Gabriel can’t tear his eyes away from the pale shade the sterile white light from the window paints his baby blues, so resigned and crestfallen.  _Like Gabriel really hurt him_.

                Shit.

For the first second, Gabe’s realizing he really must have.

He wonders if Jack thinks it’s his fault.  _It’s not_ , Gabriel wants to say.  _It’s not you—it’s me_.  But that preamble already has its own stereotype and it doesn’t need Gabriel putting it out there between them to give Jack the wrong idea.  God knows if there is one thing Gabriel Reyes is good at, it’s making the worst of a bad situation. 

“It’s because of the fighting, right?” Jack asks, aside, more to himself than to Gabriel.  They both know that’s the catalyst.  “…It’s because we never see each other, right?  Because I can’t make time for you.  You’ve said that before.  How unimportant you feel.”  Gabriel wants to snap at him for turning his words around.  When he’d said that, he was talking about the underhanded way Blackwatch was being publicized.  He hadn’t meant anything personal by it.  But the bit about time, that…he can’t deny that.  He’d said that.

Fuck, he knows their lives are too busy for this shit.  The military doesn’t usually sell out into romance.  It’s not the best place to nurture a healthy relationship, and they both knew that.  With them both being in such elite positions, it was bound to happen.  Maybe Gabriel wasn’t the most romantic person anymore- he does remember a distant time when he had been- and maybe Jack had a higher position than him now.  In the end it shouldn’t matter.  At the end of the day it’s still them.  He watches the way Jack’s eyes glaze with tears and the burning shame that fills his chest is suddenly overwhelming.  As far as Gabriel knows, he’s never made Jack cry before.  He doesn’t want to do it again.

Gabriel leans over him on the bed, reaches out to brush away hot tears with cool fingers and draws Jack up into his arms.

 “Shit, _Carino_ , I’m sorry.”

                “Don’t do it again.”

Gabriel expects him to say more.  He doesn’t.  Jack leans into him, closes his eyes and breathes, really breathes for the first time in three months.  Gabriel is the closest thing to home Jack has known since his real home.  He’s the only thing holding him here, in his body, for so long…for so long Gabriel was the only thing holding him together.  Jack had to hold together for the millions of lives on his shoulders. Gabriel needed an outlet for the horrors he put into the world, just to take a couple horrors out.  Jack knows he has a thankless job.

“That’s it?” Gabriel asks, hesitant.

“What, you want me to rake you across the coals?  Jesus, Gabe, I’ve never seen you look so guilty before.  What’s the point in me beating you up, when you beat you up enough for the both of us?”  Gabriel is lucky enough to be forgiven.  He’s lucky enough that Jack doesn’t ask for any other details—and god forbid he do the right thing here and now and tell Jack the whole of it.  Tell him it wasn’t once, it wasn’t even just a couple of times.  He doesn’t.  He manages to wriggle under the blankets and pull Jack against him—it’s enough to soothe the vibrant feelings in his chest.

                He feels the irony of it; a lifetime on the battlefield has never left him so afraid.  Nothing matches up to the dreaded idea of losing Jack.  His everything.

                He won’t make the same mistake twice.


End file.
